Mr. Richard Loring Kendrick's card is in ours; of course it's
in yours. Here are yours; do open the box and let me see! Mother's are
orchids, perfectly wonderful ones. Rosy's are mignonette, great
clusters, a whole armful--I didn't know florists grew such
richness--they smell like the summer kind. She's so pleased. Mine are
violets and lilies-of-the-valley. I'm perfectly crazy over them.
Yours--"
Roberta had the cover off. Roses! Somehow she had known they would be
roses--after last night. But such roses!
Ruth cried out in ecstasy, bending to bury her face in the glorious
mass. "They're exactly the colour of the old brocade frock, Robby," she
exulted. She picked up the card in its envelope. "May I look at it?" she
asked, with her fingers already in the flap. "Ours all have some
Christmas wish on, and Rosy's adds something about Gordon and Dorothy."
"You might just let me see first," said Roberta carelessly, stretching
out her hand for the card. Ruth handed it over. Roberta turned her head.
"Who's calling?" she murmured, and ran to the door, card in hand.
"I didn't hear any one," Ruth called after her.
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